Page 226 of House of Cards

For the first time since we’ve met, he’s sharing something real. Something raw. Something it’s obvious he’s shown no one else before.

His darkest desire, laid bare.

And for some twisted, fucked up reason, I want to experience this. Because I need to know every part of Smith.

The good, the bad…and the deeply disturbed.

He’s right. How can I beg to stay in his world if I have no idea what that even means?

“No. I’m ready,” I whisper.

I’m not sure if it’s relief or excitement that flashes in his eyes, but it softens his expression, lets his jaw finally relax. He comes to kneel on the bed beside me, the plastic quietly crinkling under his weight.

I can’t help but drop my eyes. He’s still not hard, and I don’t understand what that means. This doesn’t turn him on, but the thrill he’s feeling is so palpable I can almost taste it.

“This is going to hurt,” he says, tracing the flat side of the blade over my collarbone, not cutting yet, just letting me feel the cool metal against my feverish skin.

“But if you let the pain in, if you surrender to it, it’ll feel so fucking good.”

He drags the flat of the blade up my fluttering stomach, then changes the angle just enough that the edge of the blade scrapes over my skin like a straight razor. I’m all too aware of how little effort it will take for him to draw blood.

For him to kill.

To say I’m feeling vulnerable is an understatement. My skin has never felt thisflimsybefore. Like a paper bag filled with blood and organs, where one quick swipe or stab could send everything spilling out onto this plastic sheet.

Smith is silent as he guides the knife over my body, the only sound his slow, steady breathing and the scrape of metal against skin.

My heart is hammering so hard I can see a strand of hair near my face vibrating with every beat. Each breath feels shallow as I try to drag it into a too-tight chest caged in by icy ribs.

This is fucking insane.

He’sfucking insane.

Scratch that.I’mfucking insane.

I mean, how the hell else could I be enjoying this?

Right alongside the tension of fear, my body is tingling with arousal. With anticipation—of pleasure, of pain, of whatever this man wants to dole out.

When he runs the tip of the knife around my nipple, and then over it, I let out a shuddering gasp. My eyes flutter closed, heightening the sensation of touch as he repeats the same slow torture on my other nipple.

Then down, down. Over my fluttering stomach. Scraping over my pubic mound.

I start panting when he touches my clit, slowly—ever so fucking slowly—spreading my legs wider.

It must signal something to him. Or perhaps he’s reached the end of this particular line of torture. The knife disappears, and with it the red-hot afterglow of its sharp tip against my most sensitive skin.

“You’re doing so well, Zoey,” he murmurs.

The moment I open my eyes, he brings the knife to his mouth and licks the tip.

My pussy clenches so hard, I whimper.

Smith shifts deeper onto the bed, pushing my leg up and coming to sit in front of it, drawing my foot into his lap.

Fuck, when did he get such a massive hard on?

I pull my foot away, but he drags it back. We spend a hot second playing tug of war, until he shoves my foot down where he wants it—right on his dick.

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